Stranger things
by Yozora-Hana
Summary: When Alex, a modern-day Aussie university student, finds herself in the world of one of her favourite mangas, what is she to do? Her knowledge of this world and its inhabitants may save her.. or doom her.
1. Chapter 1

The day that changed my life began like any other. My phone alarm's incessant beeping woke me up at 6:30, and, groaning, I shuffled out of my room and into the bathroom, bumping into the corners of doors and walls along the way. After showering and getting changed- jeans, combat boots and an old Rise Against t-shirt, so inventive- I made myself a cup of tea. I'd cheered up enough at this point to grin to myself at the image of Sebastian Michaelis acting as my butler; "this morning's tea is a two dollar packet of black tea from the local supermarket, heavily sweetened with milk and sugar". Yeah, right. Blame it on the fact that I'd been up 'till 1am reading the newest manga chapter online.

'Morning, Sarah' grunted my stepfather, shuffling into the kitchen. I gave him a sympathetic wince and mumbled a reply. Like any other morning, we both prepared for the day ahead silently; packing lunches and eating breakfast in a quiet rhythm. We're both fairly introverted people, so we get along well. After I'd put on my makeup, I greeted my mum as she came stumbling out. She's a bit more cheerful in the mornings, so she gave me a hug. She 'flopped' on me- it's an inside joke we have, one of us goes completely boneless as we're hugging the other- and I yelped, trying to support her weight and not fall over. Laughing, I kissed her on the cheek and wished her a good day as I made my way outside.

I really wasn't expecting what came soon after. I walked to the station as usual, listening to some classical music because it was a cold day and I feel fairly introspective and quiet during wintery days; I'd arrived at the station and gotten a seat on the train into the city, as usual. I am; well, I was, studying arts at a University in the city. I think I had a history class that day; we were studying the French Revolution. It's strange how these odd things stick in your mind. As the train was passing through an underground tunnel, the lights began gradually dimming. I looked up from my sketchbook and around, but the train suddenly halted, and everything was dark. 

'-dy. Miss? Young lady?' I felt presences around me, but it was too short a time to feel anything before I drifted off again. The one thing that noticed was that the voices were British, oddly enough. Afterwards, the first thing that I felt was that my whole body was aching, my throat was dry, and that I wasn't in my bedroom. I knew immediately that I wasn't dreaming. Gasping, I shot upright and, disoriented, threw the thick bedcovers off of me- to find that I wasn't in my normal clothes. I was dressed in some sort of nightgown.

Is this some kind of sick joke? I wondered, looking around me for the first time. I was in an old, chilly room; the walls were made of stone. There was one other bed in the room, but it was empty. This place certainly wasn't modern…There were candles on the walls, for god's sake. Oh, god, what if I'd been kidnapped? Fear began to set in, but I stopped it at once. Fury began to build in my stomach as I looked for a way out. How dare they? Who took me? If they thought I was going to lie down and be murdered, they were fucking _wrong._ I found my shoes under the bed and put them on, and noticed that my hands were shaking. Adrenaline, I thought dimly. I grabbed a candlestick off of the bedside table- it was heavy, and according to Cluedo, was a good weapon. I suppressed a strange urge to laugh.

I opened the one door that led into a hallway, and was awash with a sense of strong recognition. 'How do I know this place? I've never been to Britain. Am I in some sort of castle?' I muttered to myself wildly. I set off down the carpeted hallway at a brisk walk, listening out for any sounds.. My nerves were on the edge; I could hear my heart hammering away in my chest. The corridor was so silent that I was terrified that my quick breathing would give me away, and I stifled it with my hand. I turned my head to check the other end of the hallway, and as I turned, I felt my body collide with something. Without thinking, I whirled, raising the candlestick in my hand- my heart beating so hard in my chest that I felt it would burst with fear- only to have my wrist gently, but firmly, held in the air by a white-gloved hand.

'My, what a rude greeting' said a cool, low voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Time seemed to slow, to stop, I flicked my gaze up in disbelief and met those dark red eyes; and then it sped up with the sound of a loud clang. I'd dropped the candlestick.

On my foot.

'MOTHERFUCKER!' I screamed, clutching my injured toe. I clapped my hand over my mouth and- well- squealed. (Silver is really heavy, who'd have thought?) Wait, why had it dropped, anyway? I looked back up to the cause and gaped slightly. 'My lady?' he questioned.

I laughed. 'Okay, this is ridiculous. Really. Am I in a coma?' I questioned, letting go of my foot and walking around.' Is this some kind of elaborate prank? Come on. Sebastian, the mansion, everything. This isn't real!'

'I assure you, this is reality. What I'm finding slightly hard to believe, however, is the presence of a guest who causes such a ruckus with her crude swearing and generally violent manner' said the butler, smiling coldly.

I finally looked at him in full. That dark hair; those red eyes; the pristine attire. His menacingly polite smile. I was vaguely aware of blurting 'Ah, sorry?' before the ground came to meet me in a grey blur.

I awoke in the same room as before and had a brief panic attack. After wheezing for a good 10 minutes and pinching my arms incessantly, I came to the realisation that this was, indeed, real, and that I had to deal with it. Right. Feeling the corners of my mouth turn down in a grim expression of determination, I began to search for my clothes. After I'd dressed, I felt more prepared (combat boots make you feel like you can stomp on anything, I guess), and decided to venture out into the hallway again.

After walking for a few seconds, I heard some strangely familiar voices coming around the corner.

'Really, Bard, you have to drink more milk! And those cigarettes! They're not good for you at all!' complained a slightly nasal voice- ah, that would be Mey-rin, I thought- and a deep, very American voice- Bard's- began to complain, before I ran down the other side. I'm not prepared to face them, I thought to myself wildly. What would I say? I had to find somewhere quiet to hide while I figured things out, and after a while, I found a secluded room in the corner of the mansion that was used for storage. I sat, surrounded by dusty boxes, and purposefully slowed my breathing. I had to calm down and process things.

First: I was in a fictional world.

Second: assuming that this fictional world is real, then the events that I know about, both preceding and following my entrance, had to be equally real.

Third: I can't tell anyone what I know. Not yet; not until I knew what I was up against.

This was going to be harder than I thought.


End file.
